


Skin

by SailorLestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Lung Cancer, Sick Sherlock, Supportive John, johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorLestrade/pseuds/SailorLestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock finds out he has cancer, he goes to great lengths to hide it from his friends. But when it becomes too much for the consulting detective, his family decides to take it into their own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

“Mr. Holmes, did you hear me?” The doctor said as he set on the stool in front of Sherlock. Sherlock’s eyes were blank and unseeing, staring straight ahead at the door in front of him. “Mr. Holmes?”

“I heard you.” Sherlock said after a moment of silence. The doctor touched his shoulder.

“We caught it early Mr. Holmes.” He said. “With some radiation, we shouldn’t have to operate. You’ll be just fine.”

Over the past few months, Sherlock had been having a hard time breathing. Thinking that it was childhood asthma again, he used his old inhaler to help him. But as it got worse, he decided to finally go to the doctor, like his mother had been pushing him to. He wouldn’t go to John though. John was busy with his own life right now. He didn’t need to be worrying about Sherlock on top of everything else. That’s why he was sitting here all alone, listening to the doctor explain how they were going to treat this…thing…

Lung cancer.

Sherlock didn’t have much knowledge of cancer stored up in his mind palace. He knew he had lost a grandfather to lung disease years ago, from too long of working in a coal mine, but that was about it. He usually left the medical stuff to John…

“Mr. Holmes?” The doctor asked. “Is there someone we can call to come get you? I don’t think you’re fit to go home alone…”

“Uh…my brother.” Sherlock said quietly. “Mycroft Holmes. He’s number two in my in case of emergency.” The doctor nodded and took Sherlock’s phone. He gave the number to a nurse who gave Mycroft a ring. Sherlock set there, not sure what to do anymore. It was the first time in a long, long time that he actually felt human.

****

“Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft said as he answered his phone.

“Hi Mr. Holmes. My name is Shelly. I’m a nurse at Dr. Bartlett’s office.” She said. “We need you to come get your brother Sherlock. We don’t think that it’s a good idea for him to be alone right now.” Mycroft sighed.

“I will be there shortly.” Mycroft said before hanging up. “What have you taken this time brother mine?” He growled as he called for a car to take him to retrieve his brother. He didn’t know that Dr. Bartlett wasn’t a rehab type doctor.

****

When Mycroft walked into the doctor’s office, he was surprised to see that it was a normal looking building. There were no bars on the windows or guards watching over sick patients. Mycroft approached the desk.

“I’m here to get Sherlock Holmes.” He said, leaning on his umbrella. She looked at her computer then looked up at him, her smile faltering slightly.

“Dr. Bartlett wants to speak with you first.” She said. “I’ll page him real quick. If you’ll take a seat.”

Mycroft nodded and set in the almost empty waiting room. Soon, an older gentleman came out to him. 

“You must be Mycroft.” Dr. Bartlett said. “I’m Eric Bartlett. I’ve been examining your brother.”

“What drugs did he take?” Mycroft sighed. Dr. Bartlett raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Holmes, you do know I’m a cancer doctor, right?” He watched as Mycroft’s skin ashened then.

“C-cancer?” Mycroft asked. Dr. Bartlett nodded.

“Yes.” He said sadly. “Mr. Holmes, I’m afraid that your brother has lung cancer.”

Mycroft’s world seemed to crumble then. He and Sherlock had both been smoking since 17. Granted, he didn’t smoke as much as his brother, but he had been doing it longer. If anyone should have cancer, it should be him.

“Where is he?” Mycroft asked. Dr. Bartlett led him back to his brother. He was sitting in a chair, wrapped up in his jacket. Mycroft walked to him. “Sherlock?” He asked gently. Sherlock looked at him.

“Hello Mycroft.” Sherlock said softly. “I’d like to go home now.” Mycroft nodded. They left the doctor’s office and went back to 221B. Mrs. Hudson tried to talk to Sherlock when they got there.

“You’ll have to forgive him Mrs. Hudson.” Mycroft said as his brother slowly walked up the steps. “He has a lot on his mind.”

“Is he alright?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Mycroft shrugged.

“God, I hope so.”

****

Before Sherlock started his treatments, he told his parents. He only wanted family to know. Mummy Holmes cried and hugged her son. Father Holmes set there, almost reacting the same way as Sherlock had.

“Have you told John yet?” Mummy Holmes asked. Sherlock looked at her.

“Why would I tell him?” Sherlock asked. “He’s having a hard enough time right now dealing with his divorce. He doesn’t need to worry about me.”

“Sherlock, he’s your friend.” She said as she dipped him a bowl of chicken soup. “He’s going to worry about you no matter what.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Sherlock said. “I don’t need anyone worrying about me.” She lightly pinched his cheek.

“Well, I worry about you.” She said. “And Myc and your father do too.” Sherlock sighed.

“Thanks for the soup.” He said, thinking about the road ahead.

****

One morning, about a month into his treatment, Sherlock woke up, his head feeling chilly. When he set up, pieces of hair fell into his lap. He looked at his pillow. There, his black curls were laying.

“No.” He whispered. He sent a text to Mycroft.

‘I’m losing my hair. –SH’

Mycroft came over to find Sherlock in the bathroom, shaving off the rest of his hair. It was a little unnerving, seeing his baby brother standing there, with less hair then he was born with.

“Sherlock…”

“Can you help me find a wig shop?” Sherlock asked. “I don’t want everyone at the crime scenes to know I’m bald.”

“Maybe you should just stay home and do work from Skype?” Mycroft suggested. “Your immune system can’t handle what diseases those bodies have.”

“I’m fine Mycroft.” Sherlock said. He looked at his pale skin and the bruises he had. Mycroft watched his brother closely.

“Sherlock, we’re all worried about you.” Mycroft said. “If you don’t want your friends to know though, maybe it would be best to stay home and phone it in. I’m sure everyone will understand.” Sherlock shook his head.

“Mycroft I’m sick, not invalid.” Sherlock snapped. He looked at the hat lying on his chair. He put it on and settled down behind his laptop. “I’m perfectly fine.”

****

Unfortunately, Sherlock stopped going to crime scenes. It was getting harder and harder for him to even get out of bed. He was sleeping more, eating when his body demanded it. He felt that he was becoming one of the normal people, and it terrified him. The wig he had ordered set on the table. He only put it on when he had visitors. The door to 221B stayed shut mostly. He helped Lestrade via computer, but anymore, he didn’t even feel like doing anything anymore. He let himself succumb to crap tele.

Mycroft watched as depression started to overcome his brother. He was scared that soon, Sherlock wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore. So Mycroft, along with his and Sherlock’s parents, decided that it was time Sherlock’s friends knew about knew. Before it was too late.

“Anthea.” Mycroft said. “I need for you to arrange a meeting for me.”

“Yes sir.” She said. “With who?”

“Martha Hudson, Gregory Lestrade, Molly Hooper, and John Watson.” Mycroft said. “Typical place. Someplace where they can’t make a scene. And do it ASAP.”

“Right away sir.” She busily started typing on her phone. Mycroft sighed and looked at his office window.

“I pray he doesn’t hate me for what I’m about to do.”

****

John went to Baker Street. He hadn’t seen much of his friend in a while and wanted to check up on him. He found Sherlock curled up on the couch, watching the TV. He was wearing a large hoodie, because he was cold and his arms just kept bruising, and had the hood pulled up, hiding his hastily thrown on wig.

“Sherlock?” John said. Sherlock looked up at him.

“Hello John.” He said, hoping to hide the weakness that was in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I came around to check on you.” John said. “Haven’t heard much from you.”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock said. John looked at the hoodie. It was the same one he had found him in at the drug den. John grabbed his arm then and pushed up the sleeve, showing bruises.

“Christ Sherlock.” He said. “You’re using again.”

“No I’m not!” Sherlock said. John growled.

“Then why have you stopped going to crime scenes?” John asked.

“Because.” Sherlock said. John growled.

“You are so bloody stupid.” John said. “You shut us out and just focus on yourself. Drugs are not friends Sherlock! They’ll kill you!”

“John, if I believe correctly, you tried to strangle me to death after I came back from the Ukraine…” John balled his hands into fists and stormed out of the flat. Sherlock set there, fatigued and having emotions slip through that he wasn’t ready to handle. For the first time since his diagnosis, William Sherlock Scott Holmes cried.

****

John stormed out the front door of the building, only to see a black car sitting there and Mrs. Hudson getting into it. John raised an eyebrow, but didn’t even want to ask. There was so much about Mrs. Hudson he didn’t know and didn’t think he’d ever want to know.

“Ah, John.” A woman said. John looked over to see Mycroft’s assistant standing outside the car. “Come along now. You’re needed as well.”

“Oh no.” John said. “I’ve already had to deal with one Holmes brother. I’m not dealing with the other one.”

“John!” Mrs. Hudson said, waving. John smirked and waved back at her.

“John, I really think you need to come with me.” Anthea said. “It’s of grave importance.” John sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“What is it with those two and everything being of grave importance?” John asked. Finally, he got into the car though and it took off. Molly and Lestrade were in the car as well, having been picked up just shortly before John and Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade had been on his way to see Sherlock, but had stopped at St. Bart’s to see if he was there. And Molly had been working, sad that the consulting detective hadn’t come to visit.

John felt worry in his chest though. This group of four people were the only people that Sherlock actually ever talked to, outside his brother and occasionally his parents. He just knew something bad was going to come out of this “meeting”.

He just knew it.

****

They were led into the warehouse where John was accustomed to meeting with Mycroft at. Lestrade looked around, looking for anything that seemed suspicious, because he wasn’t too keen on meeting people in a warehouse in the industrial district of London. Mycroft was standing there, leaning on his umbrella.

“Hello Mr. Holmes.” Lestrade said. Mycroft nodded to him.

“I’m glad you all could make it.” Mycroft said. “We need to discuss Sherlock.” John sighed.

“I know, I know, he’s using again.” John said. “If he wants to do drugs, have at it. I’m done watching him kill himself that way.”

“Dr. Watson,” Mycroft began. “My brother is using drugs, but I’m afraid it’s not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Well, the only other way is if he’s…sick…” John said, his eyes widened then. “Oh God, what does he have?”

“Sherlock was diagnosed with lung cancer.” Mycroft said, watching as it hit the four and their hearts broke a little. “He’s been doing his treatment, which caused him to lose his hair and become fatigued. That’s why, Detective Inspector, even for more unusual cases, he would choose to phone it in.”

“I should’ve known.” John said. “Oh God I was so mean to him!”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Mycroft looked at her.

“I believe he said that he didn’t want to be a burden on you.” Mycroft said. Molly started to cry. Lestrade stood there, stone faced, but inside he was hurting. John ran toward the door. “Where are you going?” He asked.

“I just yelled at Sherlock for doing drugs.” John said. “I need to get back to him.” Mycroft nodded. Anthea led everyone back to the car and they drove back to Baker Street.

****

John jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop and rushed up the stairs two at a time. He threw open the door to the flat, but didn’t see Sherlock sitting on the couch. Where had been, he just saw a wig that matched Sherlock’s hair to a T. John carefully picked it up and searched the flat for Sherlock, everyone else making their way up the stairs.

“Sherlock?” John called out. He heard light sobbing coming from the other side of the closed door to Sherlock’s bedroom. John carefully pushed open the door and made his way in. On the bed, curled up in a ball, was a bald Sherlock. John quickly set on the bed by him.

“G-go away.” Sherlock whimpered, not meaning it, but not wanting to get yelled at again. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, fighting his own urge to cry.

“Oh Sherlock.” He whispered. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“D-didn’t w-want to b-be a b-bother.” Sherlock cried. John held him close, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson coming to the door.

“You’re not a bother.” John whispered. “You’ll never be a bother.” She felt the small shudders of Sherlock’s body. “We’ll get through this together. Remember, it’s you and me against the world.” John said. Sherlock smirked a little.

“You and me…against the world.” He said softly, before closing his eyes and falling asleep in John’s arms.

****

Molly started wearing a pearl colored ribbon in her hair. Mrs. Hudson was helping out Mrs. Holmes by making sure Sherlock was fed and taken care of. Lestrade went home and shaved his hair completely off, and convinced several other people on the force to do the same. Sally wore a ribbon pin on her jacket, to show her support. Anderson shaved his hair and his beard.

John moved back into Baker Street, taking up residence in his old room and his old chair. He was constantly doing checks of the house, making sure that there were any hidden dangers, such as Sherlock hiding cigarettes or drugs. Mycroft saw to Sherlock’s treatments, using his influence to get him into the best treatment centers England had to offer. So, while Sherlock was out, John stood in front of the mirror, electric razor in hand. He was in the exact same spot Sherlock was when he decided to shave off all his hair, rather than waking up to it on his pillow. Taking a breath, John placed the razor to his golden locks and they started to fall away like leaves in fall.

When Sherlock returned home, he was greeted by a bald John and a cup of tea.

“John?” Sherlock asked. “Where’s your hair?”

“What hair?” John asked jokingly. Sherlock smiled weakly and settled into his chair, sipping the tea given to him.

“John?” Sherlock said after a bit of silence. John looked up from his computer.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

John smiled and felt a tear come to his eyes.

“Anytime.” He said, before turning his attention back to his web search. He was going to be with Sherlock through all of this, no matter what.

The End


End file.
